


an alignment of sorts

by smallcuts



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, Jealous Ryan, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 22:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10318193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallcuts/pseuds/smallcuts
Summary: Life is so much easier when the world is comprised of the inside of your eyelids, he thinks.





	

Ryan’s reading a book. Maybe not so much reading as it is skimming over the pages with practiced precision, inked words flying in and out of his eyesight. Rain is dribbling precariously against the cool pane of the windowsill, splattering onto the pavement below once the race to the bottom of the window is over. It sets a calm sort of ambiance, in Ryan’s opinion.

He never has time to read anymore, not like he used to when it was just him and his father’s alcoholic demons in a house alone. There, books provided a fantastical escape, a portal to a life weaved into crisp, white pages. Now, he just re-lives his favorite character’s life again, never bothering with anything new.

He doesn’t need new, not when he has Chuck Palahniuk.

Brendon creeps into the lounge five or so minutes later, smelling of fresh mildew and the slight aroma of a capri sun pouch. He looks up, catching Brendon’s eyes. His hair is shiny, sticking out in multiple directions thanks to the rain/temporary hair gel. He matches the streaks painting the window.

Ryan’s breath catches in his throat.

“Don’t sit on the couch,” Ryan merely tells him once the air returns to his lungs. He turns a page as Brendon plops down on the floor beside him.

“Pete’s here for a while and invited us out,” says Brendon. “Spence and Jon didn’t want to come.”

Ryan thinks it over — a night out with them or a night in with the company of a leather-bound book?

He doesn’t reply. It gives Brendon the right idea.

Brendon leaves.

-

Ryan’s in the kitchen stirring his easy-mac when Brendon slams the bus door open. He reeks of alcohol. The fine hair on Ryan’s arms and back of his neck raise — an instinct he’ll probably never outgrow. He waits for Brendon to notice him, and he does, with remarkably bloodshot eyes.

“Hey Ryan Ross,” drawls Brendon. His limbs languidly carry him into the kitchen, where he leans on the compact granite counter for support. Ryan flinches. “Pete’s a good guy, you know?”

Ryan distantly thinks that December 12th is a long time away as he averts his gaze to the floor, hand still gripping his late dinner.

“Ryan?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Ryan blinks and blinks again. Brendon’s giggling to himself, swaying slightly to the movement of the bus. ‘What’, he thinks, then ‘But why’, then ‘I love you too’, then nothing at all.

“Come on Bren,” Ryan eventually says instead, hoisting the smaller boy’s arm around his shoulders and leading them to the bunks. He pushes Brendon into his own bunk; Ryan will just have to sleep in Brendon’s. It’s much easier to shove a drunken man into a bottom bunk rather than a top bunk, after all.

He tucks Brendon in delicately, making sure not to disturb the already passed-out boy.

He traipses back into the kitchen, dumps his macaroni in the trash, then falls asleep.

-

Brendon’s voice is scratchy the next afternoon at soundcheck. Aside from a scolding from Zack to ‘not fuck up your vocal chords’ and the worried pounding of Ryan’s heart, they play a decent show.

-

“I’m going out with Pete again!” Brendon loudly announces to his band-mates and Zack. He quickly bounces off the bus in typical Brendon-like fashion, bringing the smell of aftershave with him.

Spencer turns to Jon, still on the phone with Cassie, then to Ryan. “You wanna go get food?”

They arrive at a local diner twenty minutes later. It’s nearly deserted, minus a bored looking waitress leaning against the counter and two men dining on waffles drizzled with excessive syrup. Ryan wonders if Brendon would like this place.

Knowing him, he’d probably be asking for crayons to draw on their paper napkins. His pink tongue would be sticking out in pure concentration, darting around to wet his lips occasionally—

“What’re you smiling at, Ross?” teases Spencer, successfully snapping Ryan out of his brief reverie. He passes his friend a menu, which Ryan takes gratefully.

“Nothing,” smiles Ryan, shaking his head.

-

Ryan takes extra care to ensure he is safely confined within his bunk by the time Brendon shakily floats onto the bus. Even in a drunken haze, Brendon is probably more graceful than most.

He listens to the soft thumps of Brendon traversing the kitchen, the lounge, then the bunk area. Ryan’s eyes involuntarily squeeze shut, his breaths coming out in shallow puffs as Brendon yanks one of their curtains back. Brendon grunts.

Can he not find his bunk, Ryan wonders to himself.

He jumps and nearly smacks his head on Brendon’s bunk as the younger man harshly swats Ryan’s curtains open. He has no clue what Brendon’s intentions are, doesn’t really want to know. He hears the other male heave a sharp intake of breath.

And then Brendon’s clambering into his bunk. Unsurprisingly, the stale stench of alcohol permeates his bunk, making bile rise in Ryan’s throat.

“Ryan,” whispers Brendon. “A-are you awake?”

Ryan pretends to be asleep. Brendon doesn’t press any further, but Ryan can feel him intertwining his limbs with Ryan’s. If he had been sleeping, Brendon definitely would have woken him up by now.

“Love you, Ry,” sighs Brendon so quietly that Ryan almost can’t hear him. Frustrated heat pools in Ryan’s cheeks — why does Brendon have to be flat-out drunk to say he loves him?

Ryan waits for Brendon’s breath to even out and light snores to fill his bunk before he tells Brendon he loves him too.

-

Ryan’s bunk is empty in the morning, although the stench of alcohol seems to have made a home out of Ryan’s pillows and blankets.

-

The show is deafening that night. Brendon holds a note for one, two, three, four seconds before he’s prancing over to Ryan’s side of the stage.

They launch into ‘I Write Sins Not Tragedies’, Brendon singing directly into Ryan’s ear, seeping into his entire being. Adrenaline buzzes through him as they sing the chorus together before Brendon brushes a thumb over the line of Ryan’s jaw.

Ryan backs away even though he wants nothing more than to lean into the touch, and Brendon’s veering off to the center stage, shouting his lungs out for the adoring audience.

-

Pete’s waiting for them after they finish their set. He congratulates them all with a wide smile and a slap on the back, except for Ryan. He receives a bone-crushing hug instead, the kind that sweeps you off your feet, and he can’t help but grin at the enthusiasm.

Then, he watches as Pete does the same to Brendon, noticing how Pete whispers something in Brendon’s ear. Jon and Spencer whisk him off to the dressing room because ‘it takes too damn long to take off your makeup and we need showers’ before he gets a chance to ask Brendon what Pete said.

-

Brendon doesn’t return to the tour bus for hours.

-

When Brendon does return, only Ryan is on the bus. Spencer and Jon left earlier to go grab some snacks from the gas station, and Ryan embarrassedly had wanted to wait up for Brendon.

Thankfully, he’s sober when he arrives back at the bus. Ryan beams at him, setting his sidekick aside until his brain catches up with him.

Brendon looks thoroughly debauched, a sheen of sweat still on his face, clear sex hair framing his face in jagged curls. A wave of sad resentment crashes over Ryan, his fingers itching to curl around one of the couch cushions.

“Sup Ry-Ry,” greets Brendon. He smiles, his flushed face enhancing his grin. There’s a breathy undertone to his voice, one that Ryan resolutely ignores.

Brendon burrows into Ryan’s side, not bothering to wait for a response as he pulls Ryan’s arm around his waist. When he’s this close, Ryan can faintly smell someone else’s cologne on him.

He swallows the lump in his throat and shuts his eyes.

-

They must’ve fallen asleep in there because Brendon is stickily plastered to Ryan’s side and the light filtering through the window has darkened significantly. A polaroid of Ryan and Brendon peacefully sleeping is on the table, signed _‘take that into the bunks plz! <3, spence & jon’._

He spends the next few minutes carefully and veeerrryyy slowly removing himself from Brendon — it’s no easy feat, Brendon has a death grip on him even in slumber — and paints a mental portrait of his sleeping form. Brendon could easily pass for an angel, Ryan thinks.

He places the photograph of himself and Brendon in his pocket and walks away.

-

It’s almost as if Brendon never spends the afternoon with his own band anymore. Granted, he’s only been jumping ship with Pete for four days now, but Ryan feels as if it’s SpencerandJon featuring Ryan as an unwanted additive.

So when Brendon comes thundering into the lounge, yelling that he was going out with Pete again, Ryan’s quick to get up and latch onto Brendon’s forearm before he could get a foot out of the bus.

“Can I come with you?” He asks almost inaudibly, and something in Brendon’s confident demeanor shifts. Maybe it’s just Ryan’s imagination when he sees Brendon’s eyes unsurely skittering over Ryan’s grasp on his forearm.

Whatever doubt flies through Brendon’s mind, it passes with a nod of his head. “Let’s go then!”

-

“You brought your own Ryan Ross?” Pete gasps as soon as Brendon tugs Ryan into Pete’s hotel room. Pete’s room is an absolute mess, to say the least.

“One all of my own,” smirks Brendon.

Pete gives Ryan a one-armed hug. His cologne is eerily familiar, although Ryan can’t displace where he remembers the smell.

“We were going out, but I don’t think clubs are really your scene, huh?” Pete asks with a glance in Ryan’s general direction.

Ryan agrees.

Brendon pads over to the minibar and sets up a couple of shot glasses while Pete gestures to the giant bed in the middle of the room. They gingerly sit down as Brendon pours them all a shot — Ryan doesn’t like alcohol. Thankfully, Brendon seems to remember as he downs the third shot he had originally poured and filled it with water instead.

“How’s the tour going?”

“Fine.”

“How’s Jac?” Ryan had completely forgotten to tell Pete things between him and Jac were finished. He couldn’t keep up the charade of loving her, not when all he wanted was to love Brendon.

“Fine.”

“How’s Jon doing?”

“Fine.”

“You’re quite fond of the word fine, aren’t you?”

“Fi— yeah.”

Pete barks out a sharp laugh at that and slings an arm over Ryan’s thin shoulders. Brendon returns with quite a few shot glasses balanced precariously against his chest and arms and deposits them all on Pete’s night stand, a broad smile stretched across his lips.

Pete withdraws his arm from its position to hand Ryan the water, then knocks back two shots at once with Brendon, the latter giggling as some of the amber liquid drips down his chin. Ryan sips his water speculatively as Pete brushes a calloused finger over Brendon’s chin. He glances down, and doesn’t need to look up to know Brendon is flashing one of his mega-watt smiles at Pete.

-

It’s when Pete playfully orders Brendon to turn a movie on for them that Ryan notices something, definitely something in the general atmosphere is odd.

Brendon ambles over to the television, quite obviously not completely sober what with the wobble in his gait. He bends over to snatch the remote off the floor — how did it get there anyway?

Ryan peers at Brendon’s ass — he can’t help it, okay? — but ashamedly directs his gaze away almost micro-seconds after.

His stomach positively drops when he sees Pete’s eyes roving over Brendon’s ass, lust clearly stenciled on his face.

He excuses himself to the bathroom, unsure if anyone even heard him.

-

Ryan ends up pinching his cheeks and glaring at his own reflection very pointedly in the mirror. Is this what Pete and Brendon were doing when they were ‘hanging out?’ Were they just fucking? Were they in love and that’s why Pete was tagging along on tour with them? Was he just overthinking Pete’s thing for Brendon’s ass?

He clamps down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He’d known it was just the alcohol talking when Brendon claimed to love him, _**fucking dumbass stupid fucking idiot**_ , why did he have to read into it, make something out of nothing? His shaky hands come to splay along his pinstriped pants, and he honestly feels like the biggest fool alive.

Ryan flips the toilet lid down and perches on it, letting his head drop to the protective cradle of his knees. He’s probably smearing his meticulously applied eyeliner, but who gives a fuck?

Clearly not Brendon.

So maybe he’s hyperventilating (and overreacting) a little, but he feels like he claimed dibs on Brendon a long time ago and doesn’t Pete know how to back off? He can have anyone he wants, literally anyone, so why would he go after Brendon when he’s so obviously Ryan’s?

The nagging voice in his head tells him clearly that Brendon never was his in the first place, but he’s not willing to listen to reason at the moment.

-

Ryan exits the bathroom, feeling rather numb.

-

2 AM rolls around and Pete and Brendon — surprisingly, not drunk — decide to play yet another round of Just Dance. Ryan watches from the bed with heavy eyes, lids falling to a close every two minutes.

He must pass out at some point because he wakes up feeling slightly dehydrated and is startled by the light streaming out from the crack in the bathroom door. Once he’s fully conscious, he becomes hyper-aware of soft voices spilling out from behind the door.

Curiosity causes him to tip-toe to the bathroom and line his ear up with the door.

“… I know, B …”

“… never know what to do anymore … probably hates me …”

“… make it better, shh …”

They abruptly stop talking. Ryan, panicked, sprints back to the bed and pretends he’s still asleep as the door creaks open. He slits his eyes open halfway, knowing it’d be extremely unlikely for either of them to know he’s awake, but it never hurts to exercise caution.

He screws them shut when Brendon and Pete approach the bed, and they slow to a stop in the opposite direction of where Ryan’s head is tilted.

When he believes the coast is clear, he cracks his eyes open again, only to be met with the sight of Brendon pressing his plush lips to Pete and Pete gripping his hips, the ones Ryan wants to stroke and cherish and love and—

Well.

Curiosity killed the cat.

-

Ryan goes back to the bus alone, tattered heart permanently lodged in his throat.

-

Ryan instantly latches onto Spencer, much to the chagrin of Jon. He needs the comfort of his childhood best friend, needs him to gently wrap gauze around the gaping wounds in Ryan’s heart and press a feathery light kiss to it because he’s never had a mother to do that for him, needs Spencer.

He’s there, invading Spencer’s space after shows, fully aware that Spencer has never had and never will have the heart to shove him away. He’s there, worming his way into Spencer’s arms late at night because he’s not _Brendon_ but he’s better than nothing at all. He’s there, whimpering in Spencer’s embrace, muttering nonsense about nothing and everything.

Spencer never asks any questions, just lets Ryan do what he will.

-

Brendon continues to go out with Pete, Ryan continues to crumble.

-

Pete flies back to Los Angeles.

-

Brendon’s presence suddenly becomes that much more foreboding. He and Jon are always _there_. Jon often leaves when the bus comes to a stop, always asking Spencer if he wants to come explore with him. Spencer always nervously bites his lip, eyes boring into Ryan as he answers no.

Ryan would let him go if that didn’t mean he’d be trapped on the bus with no one to shield him from Brendon fucking Urie. Instead, Ryan bats at Spencer’s arm with his head insistently until Spencer sighs irritatedly and drapes it around Ryan’s small frame. He brings his knees up to his chest and plasters himself along Spencer’s side.

Brendon takes one glance at them, and before he knows it, Brendon is seated right next to him.

Brendon’s attempting to catch Ryan’s eye, questions aflame in his brown irises. Ryan shuts his eyes.

Life is so much easier when the world is comprised of the inside of your eyelids, he thinks.

-

In retrospect, Ryan should have seen this coming, but he couldn’t have known very well that Brendon was going to crowd him into a dressing room.

“You’re avoiding me, Ross,” Brendon says accusingly. He presses his back against the door, sealing off Ryan’s only chance at escape.

Ryan really, really wants Spencer here with him right now.

“No, I haven’t.”

“We both know that’s bullshit, so. What did I do?” asks Brendon. He’s trying to give off threatening vibes, but there’s a waver in his voice that Ryan knows eventually branches off to puppy-dog eyes and tears.

“Nothing Brendon, fuck. Can you leave now?”

“But—“ Brendon’s gaze skitters downward as if he’s at a loss for words, but that’s only momentarily. “I barely even talk to you now, what could I possibly have done?” He asks again, voice low and dripping with hurt.

‘You kissed Pete,’ is what Ryan wants to say. ‘You kissed him right in front of me, what the fuck is wrong with you?’

“You didn’t do anything, stop being dramatic.”

There are a few moments of unresponsive silence, a tenuous stalemate as both boys glare at each other.

Brendon suddenly surges forward, catching Ryan off guard, and wraps his arms around the taller boy. Ryan struggles in his embrace, heart pounding, but Brendon won’t fucking let go.

“Tell me what I did wrong! We’re not leaving until you do,” says Brendon, his voice slightly cracking.

“For the last time, you didn’t do anything!” Ryan whisper-yells. He doesn’t want to hurt Brendon’s ear-drums (christ, how pathetic is that).

“I love you and you don’t even—…” Brendon sighs.

‘He’s saying it platonically,’ Ryan concludes. ‘He’s trying to make me forgive him.’

“I admit it, okay? I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I’d rather have you hate me for having _stupid fucking feelings_ for you than for— for no reason at all.” Brendon sniffles. He backs away from Ryan, making sure his eyes don’t meet Ryan’s at all as his well up with tears.

Brendon has ruined his friendship with Ryan, and the band.

So he darts out of the dressing room unnaturally fast, ignoring all monotonous yells of his name until he finds a safe place in Jon’s arms. He has about ten minutes to get his act together but for now, he focuses on stemming the rapid flow of tears and ignores Jon’s worried questions.

-

Every time Ryan prowls closer to Brendon’s microphone, Brendon maneuvers away to Jon’s side of the stage as quickly as possible. He only shares a mic with Ryan when necessary, making sure to keep their stage antics to a minimum. The grin on Ryan’s face as he slides into Brendon’s space like he’s just one big joke to Ryan gradually pisses him off to the point where he stands rigid and frozen at his own mic by the end of the setlist.

*

(Although Brendon’s repeated, frightened actions on stage cause Ryan frustration, nothing can wipe the goofy grin off his face for the rest of the show.)

-

Ryan waits until he knows for certain that Brendon’s sulking in his bunk alone until making a move.

Meanwhile, Spencer’s beyond relieved that Ryan has finally stopped utilizing him as a human security blanket and takes up Jon’s offer of scoping out the mall nearby.

“Knock knock,” whispers Ryan as he gently peels back Brendon’s curtains.

“Go away,” Brendon harshly says, voice laced with venom.

“Brendon, why didn’t you tell me before?” Ryan asks softly. Brendon has told him before, but Ryan still chooses to believe that it was the alcohol talking for him both times. It’s a ridiculous line of thought, yes, but whatever. He can’t be bothered to ponder those drunk confessions when he finally received a love declaration from a sober Brendon. He crawls into Brendon’s bunk, essentially inviting himself in there. Thankfully, the younger man doesn’t push him away.

“Go away,” he repeats.

“I just wanted to say that I love you too,” Ryan grins, trailing his long fingers up Brendon’s outstretched arm. To his surprise, Brendon rolls over and slaps Ryan’s hand off his bicep.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, okay, so fuck you for thinking you can—“ Ryan cuts Brendon’s tirade off with a rather long-overdue kiss. It’s chaste, just an innocent lips to lips kiss, but it only lasts for three seconds before Brendon jerks his elbow into Ryan’s chest, hard.

“I know you’re trying to save the band or whatever you stupid fuck, but can’t you do it later, you know, when I’ve had time to think shit over? God, you’re such an asshole.” Brendon spits.

The excited fizzing in Ryan’s stomach is slowly dissolving with every ill word addressed towards him, and the lazy smile he had on his face vanishes.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” snarls Brendon, not waiting for Ryan to move as he kicks his way out of his bunk. He storms off, leaving a trembling Ryan in his wake, and slams the bus door shut.

-

When Spencer and Jon arrive back to the bus, they do so with a passed out Brendon. Ryan’s been mindlessly perched on one of the lounge couches for hours, trying to concentrate on a book. It’s hard to do so when the boy he’s in love with thinks he’s the absolute scum of the earth, however.

“Can you make sure he goes to bed?” Spencer requests before dumping all 120 pounds of Brendon onto Ryan’s fragile lap. Jon salutes him as they both saunter into the bunks, likely preparing to fall asleep soon.

Ryan tiredly strokes Brendon’s hair, still mildly put off from all the jagged insults Brendon had directed at him earlier and wondering what exactly happened to Brendon’s fling with Pete.

He takes one look at the snoring Brendon (he doesn’t smell any alcohol on his breath, phew) and decides he’s much too exhausted to try to drag Brendon to the bunks. Instead, he carefully gathers his legs up from under Brendon and spreads himself across the couch. He’s heavily squished into the couch cushions, what with his companion’s dead weight, but as he throws an arm over Brendon’s waist and a leg over his thighs, well. It isn’t so bad having only three inches of wiggle room.

He nuzzles his face into Brendon’s hair, chest heaving as he shakily inhales, then presses a dozen butterfly soft kisses into Brendon’s equally-soft hair.

-

Unsurprisingly, Ryan wakes up first.

In any other situation, he would’ve maneuvered himself off the couch in an elaborate manner involving crashing face-first into the carpet behind the couch, but this is no ordinary situation.

He peers down at Brendon and honestly can’t help it when a minute smile overtakes his features. He just looks so peaceful, unperturbed by everything around him.

Ryan hates to ruin it, but he needs to confirm that this beautiful boy, this angel really does love him (and he’d preferably like to hear it without all the cussing this time around), so he gently pokes Brendon around ten times until he stirs awake.

“H-h— wha—…” Brendon squints at the sight in front of him, and Ryan is more than willing to return eye contact.

“Hey,” greets Ryan before he closes his eyes and lightly puckers his lips, hoping to every god in every existing religion that Brendon won’t fucking shove him away again when he leans down.

There're a few moments of bliss, wherein Ryan kisses a brick wall (but at least it’s a soft and barely moistened brick wall, with a pretty face to boot). Brendon pulls away, although resentment isn’t scrawled across his face like it was a mere half-day ago.

“I—“ Brendon starts to say, but Ryan presses a lean finger against his lips.

“I love you, and I’m not fucking with you, ok? Why would you even—“ Ryan gnaws the inside of his cheek, attempting to think of a way to finish that open-ended question, but he comes up blank. For a lyricist, he sure is terrible with conversations. What he isn’t bad at is wearing his heart on his sleeve, and he’s baring it once again for Brendon to see. Only this time, he hopes Brendon isn’t going to view it hatefully.

“I thought you were straight,” counters Brendon. Seems as if he’s figured out the rest of Ryan’s question for him.

“I thought you liked Pete,” replies Ryan, a tad condescendingly. That whole fiasco in Pete’s hotel room still elicits unpleasant memories, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t receive an explanation from Brendon.

“I don’t. He just—“ Brendon cuts himself off, a persistent and embarrassing pink blush clouding his normally pale cheeks. “He was there, okay? He tried to help me get over you but it didn’t work, as you can see,” He laughs. There’s Brendon’s signature lop-sided smirk back, Ryan’s favorite smile.

“I think I’d be pretty damn heartbroken if you got over me,” Ryan snorts, although nothing about that sentence is funny in the slightest. God, Ryan would probably stress himself to death if he had to witness Brendon and Pete acting all coupley right in front of him.

“Ah… okay,” Brendon finishes. They stare at each other for an agonizingly long minute, the whole time Ryan’s thinking that he might just be dreaming again (and maybe he’ll wake up back in Pete’s damned hotel room) until Brendon goes cross-eyed, and sticks his tongue out. It effectively ruins what otherwise might have been a serious moment.

-

The next time Ryan sees Pete, Brendon is hand-in-hand with him. Pete takes one glance at their interlaced fingers and grins the same blinding grin Brendon does.

“I see it worked out, huh?” He says, arms folded across his chest. Brendon nods eagerly as Ryan tightens his grip. No one can be too sure when it comes to Pete Wentz.

Pete ruffles Brendon’s hair affectionately, prying him away from Ryan. “Missed you, wild kids!” Pete exclaims although Ryan supposes it’s directed more at Brendon than him.

“We’ll see you around, dude,” Ryan smiles at him before tugging Brendon away to the dressing room down the hall.

“I felt like I was in a game of tug of war or something,” laughs Brendon. Ryan turns to capture his lips in a quick kiss, smirking to himself when he sees the stars in Brendon’s eyes when he pulls away.

“Yeah, and I won.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was lowkey a mess but then again all of my fics are.


End file.
